This collaged erasure, titled “introduction,” is part of a larger project I’m working on, As the Mobile Moves: a memoir in literary experiments. I envision this beetle poem as both an introduction and a lasting reminder of valuing process over the product. Like a beetle, this concept moves slowly and consistently through the subtext of the subsequent pages, as I’d like it to move through life: an image that speaks to identity as discovery, constantly shifting with experience, environment, and terrain.
This matters deeply to me because, while I never thought I was straight, I lived much of my life trying to fit into societally approved structures. Even as an artist who was always pressing boundaries, I didn’t allow my heart to move as freely in life as it did in my art. It took me a long time to uncover this more authentic self, to live out and beyond a hetero-presenting marriage, and into being a lesbian. It was painful to blow up my life in order to find a new space where I could breathe and honor not only my desires, but my inner truth. And it wasn’t one moment, it was a process—uncovering and layering, breaking and remaking, revealing meaning slowly. It continues.
Erasure as a form mirrors this process. It allows something hidden to emerge. Through obscuring, selecting, revising, and reimagining, erasure and collage reflect the way we shape identity—what we conceal, what we highlight, and how we transform raw material and fragments into meaning. The layering in this piece, including the play of light and shadow on the photographed page, intentionally holds that tension between what is revealed and what remains underneath. It is about introducing ourselves to others, but also the more critical introduction—how we meet ourselves over and over again.
This piece is addressed to my younger self, but also to anyone who has lived in a way that hid or denied their more profound sense of purpose and personhood—a truth that is prevalent in, but also extends far beyond, the queer community. There’s sadness in realizing how long I ignored vital parts of myself. However, this work serves as a reminder that it’s okay. We are not meant to know who we are all at once. In fact, that’s impossible. Understanding the self is not a destination; it’s a continuous, unfolding process that deserves to be met with wonder and curiosity, not judgment.
The mobile, the unifying image of the larger memoir, doesn’t stand still. It turns gently with each current. The balance shifts. The shapes move. Perspective lends different interpretations. There is no final form. That’s the point. This poem, and the larger project to which it belongs, reclaims the space of becoming. It tells my younger self: You are not wrong for not knowing. You’re not late. You are in motion and becoming. We all are.
